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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28050444">Eggshell</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/rice_and_beans/pseuds/rice_and_beans'>rice_and_beans</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, F/F, Home Improvement</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 14:53:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,104</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28050444</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/rice_and_beans/pseuds/rice_and_beans</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>No magic and enough fresh coats of paint to fix whatever's wrong.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Fleur Delacour/Hermione Granger</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>70</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Eggshell</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It was Hermione's idea. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Something new. Something fresh. No magic."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Their apartment had grown stale, she had said. She was no longer excited when she got home, everything looked and felt so bland; the same. Fleur nodded along absentmindedly, tampering down the twinge in her chest at the expressed sentiments. Honestly, if Hermione was excited about something, anything, these days, Fleur was willing to give it a shot.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Do you love me?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Truthfully, to Fleur, the idea of it sounded just dreadful. And inefficient. Pouring paint from buckets into trays just to spread it on walls several times over. Fat brushes and unwieldy rolling devices that could have some paint, but not too much paint, before slopping and spreading quickly, not but too quickly, but not too slowly either, on the interior surfaces. The potential for spray and spills and smudges and things Hermione called "holidays," and they had to be careful of streaks flashing through and had to "cut in" just right, and "feather," and the brunette kept on going. Fleur did her best to keep her face from contorting in confusion and annoyance at all the research and terms her wife shared with her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Do you love me?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Of course I love you, don't you feel it?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"First there's the primer, it's to cover up the blemishes and anything uneven, so it doesn't show through with the new paint. Like here," the Gryffindor gestured with her hands to various areas on the wall as she explained. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Merlin forbid anyone saw any of the flaws. Fleur herself didn't notice half of the markings or chipped paint or uneven surface until Hermione pointed them out, but they were glaring to her wife, apparently. Glaring, but could be covered up with enough layers of primer and paint. Ok. If this would make Hermione happy, Fleur was fine with it. She nodded along and mhmm-ed at appropriate moments.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"There's a crack here." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fleur regretted allowing herself to voice the words. Her fingers itched to reach for her wand. Was it even worth bringing up? She could have fixed it with her magic and Hermione would have never even known. A problem solved without the hassle and heartache of bringing it to light. But Hermione made Fleur promise not to use magic. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You can't use magic for everything, Fleur. Magic can't fix this." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Fix what?" Because it most certainly could fix this.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"This- this- I just mean, not everything can be done or undone by magic. Not everything can be done or undone even without it."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Of course I feel it, I just like to hear you say it."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And so Fleur agreed to painting with no magic and covering up flaws and doing something called spackling to the crack in their foundation. A paste. A paste in a crack in their foundation instead of magic for repair. It seemed superficial and unhelpful but it was what Hermione wanted and Fleur was willing to give it a shot. It was the least Fleur could do. Pretend for Hermione the way Hermione pretended for her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Do you love me?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Of course I love you, don't you feel it?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Of course I feel it, I just like to hear you say it."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"I love you I love you I love you so much I love you."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"You love me so much that you can't even stand it?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hermione insisted upon the overalls, and she wasn't being funny. Fleur was mortified when the brunette held them up. She was going to refuse for the sake of her dignity, but there was a glint in the younger witch’s eyes. Glee? Mischief? Excitement? Earnesty? Whatever it was, it was something. So Fleur smiled and took the article. She would wear it. It would be worth it for Hermione to look at her like that again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It had been too long, and Fleur always looked, always searched, for some spark, some fire. She wouldn't let this one flame out without a fight. So she took the overalls and they went to the store and they bought the supplies that would fix the glaring imperfections and flaws that Fleur never saw and Hermione never saw fit to bring up until today.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Do you love me?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Of course I love you, don't you feel it?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Of course I feel it, I just like to hear you say it."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"I love you I love you I love you so much I love you."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"You love me so much that you can't even stand it?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"I can't stand it, how much I love you." </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"You'll never stop loving me?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"I'll never stop."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Honest?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Honest."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Promise?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Promise."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"I love you." </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She used to find ways, excuses, to leave work early. She would line up the espressos, double her efficiency, ride her subordinates; anything to leave Gringotts at a reasonable time. Anything to get home to Hermione as quickly as possible. To get home before the bright brunette. If she got home first, she could lay the traps, set the mood, control the scene from the moment her wife would step through the door to the moment she knocked out, knackered from the work, the passion, the pleasure Fleur would put her through. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They were mates. Destined, almost. It was magic, and chemistry, and circumstance. Fleur never dreamt of being rescued from a tower, or fighting a fire-breathing dragon. Just dreamt of love. And she found it in Hermione, her tower. And there was fire, and a lot of different types of breathing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hermione's breath a sharp intake when Fleur entered her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fleur’s breath heavy and controlled watching Hermione touch herself, holding back from the peak until given permission. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione's breath loud and ragged while she was beneath a relentless Fleur.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fleur’s breath fast and high-pitched in response to a hungry Hermione. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione's breath coming in and out in uneven gasps before her first "I love you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fleur’s breath a steady and sure tide before her promise of "I do."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their breaths slow, full and synced as they drifted off to sleep. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hermione's vows spoke of passion and awakening. Fleur’s spoke of rudders in a storm. Toasts and dances and laughter and happiness filled the night. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Do you still love me?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Of course I still love you, don't you feel it? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Of course I feel it, I just need to hear it sometimes."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"I love you I love you."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"So much?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"So much."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"You love me so much that you can't stand it?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"What does that even mean?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Just say it. You know what it means."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"I can't stand it, how much I love you."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"You'll never stop loving me?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"I'll never stop."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Honest?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Honest."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"You promise?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"I-"</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fleur had saved Hermione from herself after the war, and Hermione had saved Fleur from her family. They created their own world, their own home, their own safe haven. Hermione challenged Fleur and Fleur helped Hermione to bloom. No one could touch them. Nothing could stop them and the rhythm and the melodies they created. They were music and love and music and music and love and music and love and love except after some years Fleur often found herself waiting alone in the quiet for long hours for Hermione to come home. And when she was home, was she really home? Dinners went cold, bodies went untouched, kisses left her hollow, the acoustics were all wrong. All wrong. But neither said a word about it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Maybe Fleur had noticed a crack or two.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was Hermione's work. It was Hermione's parents. It was "the boys," now men. When would it be Fleur’s turn to be first place? A question never asked, as Fleur was patient, understanding, supportive. A coward. A liar. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Do you still love me?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Of course."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Of course. I feel it. I do. It would just be nice to hear you say it sometimes."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"I love you."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"You love me so much?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"So much. Yes."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"You love me so much you can't even stand it?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"I love you."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Just say it."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"I can't stand it, how much I love you."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"You've never stopped? You never will?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"I've never stopped. I never will."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Honest?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Honest."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"You promise?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Please, I-” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fleur was rewarded that night for agreeing to go along with all of this. The overalls, the nonsensical muggle methods, the whole ordeal would be worth it. It was already paying off. Hermione came to bed. They had both been pretending for some time that things hadn't been changing. That Hermione hadn't been sleeping on the couch intentionally, that Fleur hadn't stopped pulling Hermione from the living room to their bedroom intentionally. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"I-"</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hermione in bed and Fleur in bed and Fleur felt the feathers and electric firings of nerves cracking beneath her skin. Would she? Would Hermione? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Please, I-”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Promise me.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The bed creaked when Hermione crawled in. She wrapped herself tight tight under the duvet and faced away, but Fleur would not be a coward tonight. Palm and fingertips grazed their journey between the two distant bodies. First through the valley of ever-present space, then they began to scale the wall between them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This was the part that she had stopped at time and time again before the nights on the living room couch began. Insurmountable. But perhaps not tonight. Her hand rested atop Hermione’s form under the blanket. The body stilled, big breath expanded the mass of blankets, and then Hermione began to turn and shift toward Fleur. The only part of the brave Gryffindor visible to the Veela was the top of her head and her inquisitive eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dull brown met pale blue. Fleur dared her fingers forward to curl around the edge of the blanket to slowly, gently, pull pull the fabric down to reveal a freckled nose. She kissed it. Rosy lips. She traced them with her thumb. A resolute chin. She kissed it too. Blue searched brown. Hermione’s jaw tightened. Fleur’s fingers stilled. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Please-”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I love you, I promise.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Honestly?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Please-”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’ve never stopped, have you?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rosy lips. Rosy lips. Rosy lips. Not a coward tonight, Fleur leaned in and touched her own against Hermione’s. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A plea. A promise. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The sparks Fleur had been anticipating did not come, but Hermione did kiss back. Something, anything, was better than nothing. Another secret to herself, another lie stored away. Another kiss, and soon the blanket between them was gone. Fleur was waiting for the fire, the heat, but it did not come. She let her body continue, movements from muscle memory led the way. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Unwrap Hermione reverently, like a gift. What does reverent look like? She closed her eyes and let her body remember. Glissando with fingertips down her spine, like so. She didn’t have to remember or hear their song to glide her hands the way she knew Hermione liked. Only this time Hermione didn’t sing. She kept going. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mouth equal parts soft and rough. Body demanding but yielding at certain times. First start with touches through clothes, tease enough to warm her up. Eyes still closed, Fleur pinched and pulled and then softly caressed. Next would be thigh between legs, press up and forward and grab the back of her neck. Yes. Like that. Don’t forget to breathe. Say her name. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hermione.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fleur.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Please, I-”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I love you, I promise.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Honest?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Honest”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’ve never stopped loving you.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“And you never will?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’ve never stopped.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“And you never will?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Please, I don’t have time for this right now.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Your feathers, Fleur. Are you alright? Do you want this?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fleur forgot to cover her cracks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes! Yes, I’m sorry, I’m just- I’m holding back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I won’t anymore, I promise.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fleur called upon her inner Veela. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Please</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The feathers began to emerge and she compensated in apology. Hands more clever, mouth more giving. She owed Hermione this, to drown out the questioning stare and insecure words with pleasure and warmth and touches just the right way. An orgasm was its own sort of magic, and maybe it could fix this. She closed her eyes again, listened and performed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hermione's breath a sharp intake when Fleur entered her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fleur’s breath heavy and controlled, listening to Hermione’s responses to her touches.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione's breath loud and ragged while she was beneath a relentless Fleur.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fleur’s breath fast and high-pitched in response to a hungry Hermione. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione's breath coming in and out in uneven gasps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fleur’s breath a steady and sure tide.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their breaths shallow in the recovery.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I love you, I do”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Blankets were drawn. There was silence, filled only with awkward starts and stops of mismatched breathing. Fleur hesitated before she moved forward to wrap her body around the smaller woman. She pulled her feathers back in and welcomed the escape of sleep.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I still love you, I promise.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Honestly?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’ve never stopped loving you.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“And you never will?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’ve never stopped.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“And you never will?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Please, I don’t have time for this right now.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I can’t stand this, loving you this way.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I love you so much I can’t even stand it.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“It’s been so long since I’ve heard you say that.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The following day Fleur marched with purpose into the living room, ready to do this painting thing. She had coached herself through it all morning. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Smile, try, show enjoyment. Magic can’t fix this, so we’ve got to make this work.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The silence between them from the night before followed the two women into the morning. Whose turn was it to speak? To say “I love you” back? To fill the crack in their foundation? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hermione mixed the paint and then poured. Fleur watched. Hermione tried to connect her muggle cellular device to a speaker, but it wasn’t working. Fleur watched. Hermione put her hands on her hips and stared at the blonde. Fleur got moving. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was just dreadful. It was messy and hard and tedious. There was tape everywhere, and spatter and drips. And the silence was unbearable. And the smell was toxic. And Fleur’s shoulders and back ached. Overall Fleur was hating the experience, and Hermione didn’t exactly look like she was enjoying it either. Her face was hard, and she was making those small noises she often did when she was frustrated. The ones Fleur used to find adorable, but today she just found them irritating and a true testament to her wife’s stubbornness. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fleur decided to use her magic. She was as discrete as she could be at first. Cleaning up a smudge here, smoothing over droplets there. When Hermione caught her, Fleur just looked away and pretended it hadn’t happened. But after the first coat had taken as long as it had, and after the infuriating way Hermione kept clicking her tongue, tapping the toggles on the speaker, and rapping away at the paint can, Fleur stopped holding back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Veela summoned her wand from the bedroom. Blue eyes locked with fiery brown. The silence was thick, oppressive and held a warning note within it. But Fleur couldn’t stand it anymore. Without pulling her eyes away from Hermione’s, Fleur began to chant the incantations. The speaker righted itself and began to play Fleur’s favorite French artist. Hermione hated the song, most French music, as she usually hated things she couldn’t understand. She never could quite get a grasp on the language, no matter how hard she tried. Her tongue was too heavy for it, and it embarrassed her to practice with Fleur or anybody. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Without looking away from Hermione, Fleur continued with the spells. Primer rose from the cans between them before flowing to the walls, covering them evenly and easily. All the flaws and mistakes were cleaned away and pulled into the fresh and perfect layer. The volume on the speaker turned up and she disappeared the paint that had gotten onto her arms and clothes. She looked down to assess herself and then to the walls. Perfect. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I still love you, I promise.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Honestly?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’ve never stopped loving you.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“And you never will?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’ve never stopped.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“And you never will?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Please, I don’t have time for this right now.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I can’t stand this, loving you this way.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I love you so much I can’t even stand it.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“It’s been so long since I’ve heard you say that.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Why can't it be enough for me to just tell you 'I love you?'"</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hermione's breath a sharp intake as she turned away from the blonde. Fleur couldn't see her face, but she could imagine it as she listened to strangled breathing. Eyes red and watery, nose scrunched and sniffling, mouth twisted trying to keep shut tight, quivering chin. Fleur reached out to place a hand on a trembling shoulder, only to have the brunette jerk away and create more space. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fleur magicked the music off. Hermione's shoulders began to shake more violently and sounds began to escape her. Broken notes, wet sobs. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fleur looked around and her eyes landed on the crack in the foundation. She missed it again. Today and every day for however long it had been there. But what did it matter? Not everything could be done or undone by magic. Not everything could be done or undone even without it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fleur raised her wand and began to reverse what she had done. Hermione's breathing and body had come under her control again. The shaking and the sobs had subsided. When she turned back to Fleur she was wiping angrily at her face, erasing the tear tracks streaking down her cheeks. Neither said a word. Hermione picked up a brush and handed it to Fleur. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You cut in and I'll roll."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Why can't it be enough for me to just tell you 'I love you?'"</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They continued without words. After the first layer of primer, Hermione took out the paint, apparently deciding to skip the second coat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Robin's Egg Blue, Eggshell. Fleur’s favorite color. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dull brown met pale blue. Hermione lifted her hand, and wandlessly, wordlessly, magicked the speaker back on. They stood for a few moments as jazz filled the room. They continued. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The first coat of the Robin's Egg Blue wasn't promising. Fleur’s bristles were dragging with too much paint, and Hermione's roller made sticky sounds and was pulling with not enough. Still they said nothing. Fleur recalled her wife saying something about the first coat not being reflective of the final product, so she tried not to worry, didn't ask questions, and didn't make any comments. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"I still love you, I promise."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The second coat was just as arduous, but perhaps this time a bit more desperate. Fleur tried to use only as much paint as she needed, but even then the bristles on her brush looked crazy and were sticking out at weird angles. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>How could she fix it like this? How could she paint them new this way? So damaged.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She began to pull them out as she would unruly and damaged feathers, but there would be no feathers to grow back in place. She knew this, but she did it anyway. She couldn't stop. She plucked and plucked them out, and kept on painting with her dwindling brush. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hermione would give Fleur privacy during these small tantrums, turning slightly away and painting a new area on the wall until Fleur was done battling her tool. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And so they kept going. After a while when the walls were finally fully coated, they found they could not stop. Hermione kept seeing drips, uneven application, smudges, holidays, and paint where paint was not supposed to be. She chased each one, each mistake, and Fleur just kept pulling bristles and revisiting the same edges around one doorframe, trying to get it just right. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I still love you, I promise.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Honestly?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’ve never stopped loving you.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“And you never will?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’ve never stopped.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“And you never will?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Please, I don’t have time for this right now.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I can’t stand this, loving you this way.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I love you so much I can’t even stand it.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“It’s been so long since I’ve heard you say that.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Why can't it be enough for me to just tell you 'I love you?'"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"It's not enough, they're just words! I need you to make me feel it."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"You don't feel it when I tell you I love you?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Do you mean it when you tell me you do?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They sat on the couch staring at the walls, waiting. Hermione had explained the day before that it would take until the paint was dry for them to see if everything came through as it should. So they sat and they waited. The jazz played on quietly in the background. It wasn't their song, it wasn't any of the music they usually chose to listen to together, but it would do to fill the quiet. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>How Fleur hoped this would work. She didn't understand anything about the muggle method of painting, but she couldn't see how the mess in front of them was to turn into what they wanted, what they needed. But this was what Hermione wanted, what she had researched, so the Veela was willing to give it a shot. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Please, I-"</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There were big fat droplets. Some in the corners. Some in the middle. Fleur dared to cast a glance out of the corner of her eye toward her wife. Hermione sat tall, one leg crossed over the other, shoulders and chin parallel. Resolute. Fleur’s eyes traveled back to the walls drying before them. There were lines flashing through, here and here and there. If she saw them, surely they were glaring to Hermione. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But Hermione said nothing. She sat stock-still, mouth clamped tight with the corners beginning to twist into a grimace. There was a quiver, just one small one, in her chin. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Please, I don’t have time for this right now.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Why wasn't Hermione saying anything? Was she waiting until they couldn't fix it? Was she going to wait until they had to strip it all back, raw and exposed? Back to scratch? Why didn't she say anything about the crack in their foundation before Fleur pointed it out yesterday? Was she planning on fixing it at all? Did she care to? Had it always been there? Was this on purpose? Did Hermione want the walls to crumble around them? And what was wrong with a little magic? Perhaps not for everything but for this, it could have worked. They could have fixed this with magic if Hermione had just said something sooner. And it wasn't as if Hermione wasn't an accomplished witch herself. If she saw something she should have done something, even if she didn't want to talk about it with Fleur. A problem solved without the hassle and heartache of bringing it to light.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I still love you, I promise.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Honestly?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’ve never stopped loving you.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“And you never will?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’ve never stopped.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“And you never will?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Please, I don’t have time for this right now.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I can’t stand this, loving you this way.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I love you so much I can’t even stand it.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“It’s been so long since I’ve heard you say that.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Why can't it be enough for me to just tell you 'I love you?'"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"It's not enough, they're just words! I need you to make me feel it."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"You don't feel it when I tell you I love you?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Do you mean it when you tell me you do?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Hermione, please. I do. I do. I love you, I do."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The sun was setting and it mocked them in its goodbye. The last rays of light clinging onto the walls, revealing all that they had feared. The flaws were still there, screaming through. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hermione's breaths were coming in and out in uneven gasps. Her shoulders began to tremble and jump. Sounds began to escape her, and this time she gave in and let them out. Loud deep sobs from her chest that shook and rattled her small frame. Broken notes. Fleur’s breath was steady and calculated. In for 8 counts, hold 4, out for 8. Repeat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The couch creaked when Fleur got up. She smoothed out the creases in her overalls, scourgified her hands clean of dried paint, then ran them through her hair. She looked at the misshapen roller, the almost-balded paint brush, the paint on the doorframe, and sighed. She raised her wand, turned the music off, pulled the paint and primer from the walls, the paste from the crack, and disappeared it all somewhere, anywhere, else. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I can’t stand this-"</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They would have to do this all over again tomorrow. In for 8, hold 4, out for 8. Repeat. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"-loving you this way."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hermione continued to cry. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm slowly writing again. I'm sorry for the hold up. Stay tuned for updates on the other works.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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